Mission Inn-possible 04 - Raspberry Revenge

by Rosie A. Point

  “And you don’t want to?” I’d already told Gamma about the strange conversation we’d overheard between her and her boyfriend in the library. She’d seemed happy about her inheritance then. And had acted strange on the night of her father’s murder.

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “I want to get out of this town.”

  “You’re not from here, are you?” I asked. “Don’t mean to pry, I’m just wondering why your dad would’ve wanted to open up a theater in Gossip.” I rolled my eyes, faking that I totally agreed with her about this town.

  “I know, right? Total waste of time and money. He wanted to settle,” Stephanie said, sticking out her bottom lip like an impetuous toddler, “because he was raised here. No wonder he was so darn boring.”

  Gamma had gone slightly red, but she didn’t break into scolding Stephanie. There were a few ways to irritate Gamma and insulting Gossip was one of them.

  “Pity he came here,” I said. “Maybe, if you’d never come…”

  “He’d still be alive.” Stephanie set her jaw. “Oh, you can bet he would be.”

  “Do you have any suspicions?” I asked.

  Stephanie dragged her fingers through her silky blonde hair and gave me a sidelong glance. She wore her nails manicured and long, and looked stylish in a pair of blue jeans and a cream, sleeveless blouse, accented with a polka dot scarf tied around her neck.

  “We’re curious in this town,” Gamma said.

  “They call it Gossip for a reason,” I laughed.

  Stephanie scooched forward, clasping her phone in both hands. “I’ll tell you what but you didn’t hear this from me.” She glanced left and right, then met my gaze head-on. “It was his business partner. They hated each other, like for real hated each other, and I heard she had a fetish for strange weaponry. If anyone had the will and the… blow dart, it was her. Bridget Myers.”

  11

  “I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her,” I said, as we cruised down the main street in Gossip in my grandmother’s car.

  It was a sunny afternoon, not twenty minutes after we’d finished our conversation with Mr. Shone’s daughter. The townsfolk were out and about, shopping and chatting. A few waved at Gamma’s Mini-Cooper.

  “You can’t throw her far?” Gamma asked.

  “I haven’t been working out as much as I used to.”

  “Then I accept your metaphor and the sentiment too.”

  “So, you think she’s suspicious too?” I asked.

  “The most likely suspect. But speaking to the victim’s business partner is another good avenue to explore.”

  I exhaled through my nose, trying not to huff too much.

  “Charlotte, sulking has never been your best look.”

  “I’m not sulking.”

  “Oh.”

  “Fine, I’m sulking a little,” I said. “but only because I wanted to check out some secret passageways at the inn. I didn’t get a chance this morning before lunch.” I’d come home covered in bunny rabbit fur and smelling of goat, but in better shape than Smulder who’d been head-butted in a very sensitive area. He had terrible luck with animals. And guns. Most things, really. Good thing he was an agent, then.

  “We’ll get to the inn later, don’t you worry.”

  Gamma and I fell into a comfortable silence on the ride through Gossip, and I enjoyed the scenery. The quaint buildings, the paved sidewalks, the wrought irons lamps and trees in the center aisle separating one side of the street from the other.

  My grandmother’s contact—Lauren—had told us where to find Bridget Myers. Apparently, she was a real estate agent, the only one in Gossip, and her business venture with Vaughan was something she’d been doing on the side.

  “Do you think she had anything to gain from his death?” I asked. “If Stephanie was the one who inherited everything from Vaughan, then why would Bridget have murdered him?”

  “Money isn’t the only motivation for murder,” Gamma said, as we parked outside Bridget’s office.

  It was a double story, brick building in a sunny side street. The front windows were so clean they shimmered, affording a view of the comfy inside—white linen sofas, a coffee table, and two desks set out, one occupied by a young man, and the other by a blonde woman wearing bright red lipstick and a pants suit.

  Someone had tacked a poster in the window, bearing an image of that same woman, her hands on her hips and a broad smile on her face. “Bridget knows what’s best for you and your family!” I read the slogan out loud.

  “Or so she says.” Gamma pursed her lips. “I prefer to buy directly from the seller. These real estate agents are all bluster and lies.”

  “Goodness, that’s a generalization. Unpleasant experience I assume.”

  “Perhaps.”

  We got out of the Mini-Cooper and entered the office. Bridget rose from her desk.

  “Good morning, ladies,” she said. “Looking for a new home? Starting a business? You’ve come to the right place. Bridget knows what’s best for your family.” She pointed at us and winked.

  Gamma groaned.

  “We’re, uh, we’re friends of Vaughan, actually,” I said.

  Bridget’s fake smile wavered. “I see.”

  “We were hoping to talk to you. In private,” I continued. “You see, Vaughan was staying at the inn, and we’re, uh…”

  “Concerned,” Gamma put in. “About his daughter’s behavior.”

  Bridget’s defensive posture changed at the mention of Stephanie, and a flash of anger twisted her features, then disappeared. “I can understand how you might be alarmed after what happened to Vaughan. But what has this got to do with me?”

  “We were hoping you could help us clear up a few things,” I said, and glanced over, pointedly, at the uniformed dude at his desk. He was listening in.

  “Meryl!” Bridget snapped. “Go out and grab us four coffees from the bakery. Now.”

  The guy snorted, then got up and walked out, his nose in the air. I didn’t blame him. Bridget had a superiority complex. How a person treated those who worked for them told you a lot about who they were.

  “Come sit, please,” Bridget said, gesturing to the sofas.

  I remained standing, grasping the back of the sofa, while Gamma took a seat, tucking her dress neatly under herself.

  Bridget took a position across from us. “So, why do you want to talk to me about Stephanie?”

  “We’re concerned about the safety of the guests,” Gamma said, straight away. “The girl has been acting strangely for a while, and she doesn’t seem upset about her father’s… unfortunate passing.”

  Bridget nodded. “That makes sense. She made no secret of her not liking Vaughan or his choices. Horrible wretch of a girl. I always maintained that he’d spoiled her, but he didn’t want to see it.”

  “You knew him well then?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. Vaughan and I went to school together. We were sweethearts, actually, but he moved away to go to college, and we lost touch,” Bridget said. “He ended up marrying, but that didn’t end well, did it? His wife died. And now he’s back. Or he was.” She looked out of the front windows at the street, wistful. “We were so close to finally being together.”

  Well, this doesn’t align with what Stephanie told us about Bridget and Vaughan hating each other. One of them is lying. But who?

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Gamma said.

  “Thank you. Thank you. But yeah, I can see why you’d be concerned. I don’t want to be disrespectful or insert myself where I don’t belong, but if I was to name anyone a suspect, it would be Stephanie.”

  “Did you notice anything strange about Vaughan lately?” I asked. “Anything that might’ve showed he was in danger or trouble?”

  “Hmm, no, not really. We were so busy closing the deal with Barb for the fields where we set up the theater… but, now that you mention it, he did smell strange the last time I saw him.”

  “He smelled?” Gamma asked.

  �
�It’s not a polite thing to say, but yeah, he kind of smell like cat pee.”

  “Cat pee.” I blinked.

  “Cat pee,” Bridget repeated. “No idea why. I figured it had something to do with where he was staying or—well, I’m not exactly sure. Why are you asking all these questions, anyway? What have they got to do with Stephanie?”

  “Well, dear,” Gamma said, “we don’t want to cause trouble, but Stephanie’s been saying some interesting things about you.”

  Bridget’s azure blue eyes widened. “She… what? She’s been pointing the finger at me, hasn’t she? That dirty little liar.”

  “We thought it would be a good idea to warn you,” I put in. “She mentioned that you have a fascination with strange weaponry. Like blow darts.” Gamma and I didn’t normally cause trouble like this, but it was an easy out. Bridget wouldn’t know we were investigating, and we’d get the information we needed.

  “Wow. I don’t have a fascination with weaponry! I’ve never even seen a blow dart in my life,” Bridget thundered, and got up, one fist clenching.

  Just then, the other guy, Meryl, entered carrying four cups of coffee. He spotted the look on Bridget’s face, grimaced, and did an about-turn.

  “We’d better go,” I said. “We’ve got… uh...”

  “Cupcakes in the oven,” Gamma finished.

  And with that, we skedaddled out of there, before Mount Bridget went off. Interesting that she had such a terrible temper.

  12

  We’d gotten back to the inn just in time for the dinner service, and I’d been kept busy helping Lauren prepare a light meal of chicken wraps with raspberry cupcakes for dessert. I couldn’t quit thinking about the case, though, or the potential to find hidden passageways in the inn.

  Finally, after the dishes were clean and Smulder had gone off to the library to have another one of his secretive calls with Special Agent in Charge Grant, Gamma and I rendezvoused in the kitten foster center.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I said, as Sunlight, my favorite kitten, rushed and tumbled over to me. I lifted him and scratched behind his ears, enjoying the return purrs. “I missed you.”

  “In here, Charlotte,” Gamma called from the incubator room.

  I gave Sunlight a kiss on the head before setting him down and heading over to the waist-high divider that separated the bigger kittens from the most fragile ones.

  Gamma stood to one side of the incubator, her fists on her hips. “It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “The entrance?” I entered the room.

  “Precisely. I’ve checked the map, and it should be along this wall. Do you see anything?”

  I took up a position next to her, narrowing my eyes at the wallpaper. “No. But how long do we have?”

  “Natalie arrives for the night shift in about thirty minutes. The babies have been fed and are in the incubator.”

  Half an hour to find the entrance and our mystery ghost—if he was in this part of the inn. The ghost had been sighted in the hall and up on my floor, in front of my room, but we had to start somewhere, and the kitchen was out of the question. Lauren was preparing overnight oat bowls for the guests.

  “OK,” I said. “Let’s do this.” I rapped my knuckles on the wall, but it sounded pretty darn solid to me.

  Gamma did the same, working her way down the wall, stepping carefully to avoid unplugging the incubator.

  “Anything?” I asked, keenly aware of the time ticking away.

  “Noth-oh!”

  “What?”

  Gamma’s head was tilted, listening as she pressed the heel of her shoe against a floorboard. It squeaked and rattled.

  “Not the walls, the floor,” I hissed.

  Of course! Just because the secret entrance to the library was behind a bookcase, didn’t mean the others would be the same.

  “Help me over here,” Gamma beckoned.

  I hurried over, and we bent, searching out the grooves around a well-hidden trapdoor. There was no button to press, or even a ring or handle to pull to lift it, but there was a tiny semi-circular gap. I inserted a finger and lifted a square of the floor out. A rickety set of stairs descended into musty darkness below.

  “I think we’ve found something,” I said, excitement buzzing through me.

  “Flashlight?”

  “Cellphone.” I brought it out of the pocket of my jeans and switched it on, directing the beam into the darkness.

  “Let’s be quick about it,” Gamma said.

  I took point, ducking low under the lip of the floor as we descended. I shone the flashlight ahead and then around us, as we emerged into what had to be another part of the extended basement of the inn. It was a smaller space than the one that held the Shroom Shed and Gamma’s secret armory.

  And it was empty. Not a single piece of furniture, no treasure, no assassins hiding in the dark. But boy, was there a lot of dust. Each step sent up another cloud. I coughed and spluttered, Gamma doing the same, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth.

  “We’d better check for another exit,” Gamma said.

  This time, Gamma and I stuck together, making for the walls and testing them, then doing the same with the floorboards.

  “Nothing,” I said. “No squeaks or rattles.”

  “And we’re running out of time,” Gamma replied, checking her watch by the light from my phone. “Natalie will arrive shortly. We’d better get upstairs.”

  Disappointment curled through my chest, but Gamma was right. There was nothing down here. That didn’t mean there’d be nothing in the rest of the inn. There were still plenty of secret passageways to find and explore.

  Upstairs, we slipped the square of wood into place and dusted ourselves off, just as the back doors to the foster center opened.

  “Hellooo,” Natalie called. “Anybody home?”

  “We’re in here,” Gamma replied.

  Natalie entered, her caramel colored hair tied in a high ponytail, her crooked front teeth on display in a bright smile. “Charlotte! Lovely to see you again. You look nice.”

  “So do you.” I liked Natalie. She always had a kind word to say, and she was genuine.

  “Everything all right?” she asked, removing a folded-up newspaper from underneath her arm.

  “Fine, thank you,” Gamma said. “Any interesting news?”

  “Oh, you bet.” Natalie handed over the newspaper. “You won’t believe it, but they’re reopening the drive-in theater this weekend. So soon after what happened to poor Mr. Shone.” She pulled a face. “Not sure anyone will want to go back there, now. They haven’t even caught the one who did it yet.”

  Gamma opened the paper and found the announcement front and center, under a sensational heading:

  Another One Bites the Dust: Drive-In Theater Reopening After Horror Show of a First Night

  “That Jacinta Redgrave sure knows how to write a headline,” I muttered.

  Natalie wandered over to the incubator and cooed at the kittens inside.

  “We should go over there,” Gamma whispered. “Look at the crime scene. We might find something they missed.”

  I nodded—whatever would lead us to finding the killer faster. My gut said that the ghost in the inn and Mr. Shone’s death were connected. We just had to prove it.

  13

  “Utmost secrecy,” Gamma said, as she tugged on a pair of black leather gloves. “If we get caught at the scene of the crime…”

  I didn’t need the reminder, but it was good to know we were on the same wavelength. I selected a black tank top from the mannequin at the front of my Gamma’s secret armory room, then changed into it. I pulled on a black leather jacket she’d commissioned for me next.

  This was one of my favorite parts of our ‘missions’. Getting ready, selecting what gear we were going to take with us, admiring Gamma’s substantial collection of weaponry, was right up my street.

  Gamma clapped her gloved hands at me, primly. “Come on, Charlotte. Head in the game. We’ve got a crime scene
to scour, and I need you on top form.”

  “Which car are we taking?” My grandmother had a SUV with blacked-out windows for recon missions.

  “The Mini. If we get caught, the last thing we need is questions about that car. Same reason we won’t be taking that SIG Sauer you’ve been eying for the last fifteen minutes.”

  My shoulders hunched.

  “What a change, Charlotte,” Gamma said. “When you first got here, it mortified you that I had a little collection of my own. Now you can barely keep your hands off the guns.”

  “That sounds like a terrible euphemism.”

  My grandmother laughed. “Almost all euphemisms are terrible.”

  We headed out of the armory, Gamma locking it behind her, and trudged past the Shroom Shed in the basement's darkness. A quick trip up the stairs brought us to the neat gravel pathway that tracked around the side of the inn.

  The night was cloudy, the moon occasionally peeking through the blanket like a timorous child hiding her face under the covers at night, scared of the monster underneath her bed.

  “Let’s go, Charlotte,” Gamma prompted, tucking away the key to the basement under her black polo-neck sweater.

  We rounded the side of the inn. The structure was dark, most of the guests surely asleep at this time of the night—11pm. But it was best to be cautious.

  Maybe if we went in now, we’d catch the ghost. I nearly stopped walking at the thought, but no, we were sure the ‘ghost’ was linked to the murder. The crime scene was our next best lead.

  Gamma unlocked the Mini-Cooper, and I opened the passenger side door.

  “Going somewhere?” A deep voice spoke from the shadows.

  Gamma and I tensed, both snapping into a state halfway between calm and readiness.

  Smulder came down the front steps, his features lit by the phone in his hand. “What are you two doing?”

  “Just going for a ride, Brian, dear,” Gamma said. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep?”

  “This is a dumb idea, Charlie. You’re endangering yourself again,” he replied. “You know what ‘grandpa’ would do if he found out about this.”